


some nights

by poiregourmande



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Barman Adam Bianchi, Blow Jobs, DJ Shane Madej, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shower Sex, body glitter, rarebuzzships prompt roulette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22806772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poiregourmande/pseuds/poiregourmande
Summary: Some nights are the worst. Entitled customers, little to no tips — Alix called in sick so Adam’s got to man the bar himself — it’s too much too loud too long, he’s gonna quit tomorrow.Enters Shane, that hot DJ who comes by once a month.
Relationships: Adam Bianchi/Shane Madej
Comments: 16
Kudos: 23





	some nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt roulette over at the rarebuzzships discord!  
prompts used:
> 
> dialogue: "We both know you’re a lot stronger than you pretend to be."  
trope: bar/restaurant AU  
word: nightmare  
song: some nights | fun.  
picture: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/663828309599322112/663830633176367114/amritanshu-sikdar-253730-unsplash.jpg

Truth be told, this isn’t how Adam had envisioned his twenties. 

Stuck behind a counter making jägerbombs and vodka-sodas for intoxicated trust fund kids. 

The pay’s good, though, and that’s the only reason he’s sticking with it. To put himself through culinary school. To one day have his own restaurant. To have people eat his creations. 

Some nights are the worst. 

Entitled customers, little to no tips — Alix called in sick so he’s got to man the bar himself — it’s too much too loud too long, he’s gonna quit tomorrow. 

Last call can’t come fast enough, and at long last he can count his drawer in the long-awaited silence. 

“Hey,” says a hoarse voice at the end of the bar. 

Adam whirls around, frowning in advance at someone who obviously didn’t get the memo that they were closed. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he says, a relieved smile washing over his face. 

Shane. He’s a DJ who plays at the bar once a month, a chill guy. They’ve hung out a few times. 

“Rough night?”

Adam uncaps two beers and hands him one. “A nightmare.”

Shane winces in sympathy. 

“At least the music was good,” Adam says, shrugging. “Thanks for the set, man.”

Shane grins. “Happy to help.”

They drink in silence while Adam finishes closing up.

“Can I offer some chill company to end the night on a better note?” Shane asks, pulling a blunt out of his shirt pocket when Adam joins him on the sidewalk after locking up.

Adam gives a grateful smile and nods, heading for the back alley. They perch themselves on a narrow pile of crates, too narrow to really sit two people, and Shane pulls out his lighter.

They smoke in silence for a while, shoulers and thighs pressed together. 

“Some nights, man,” Adam finally says, his voice deep and raw from the smoke. “I feel like this place is gonna be the death of me. Douchebags and puke and bachelorette parties…” He shudders. “I’m not cut out for this shit.”

Shane raises his eyebrows at him. “We both know you’re a lot stronger than you pretend to be.”

A thrill goes up Adam’s spine. It feels good, to hear what Shane thinks of him, even if they’ve only seen each other a handful of times. 

“Maybe so,” he says, “but the thing is, I don’t give a shit about all that. It’s just draining.”

Shane hands him the blunt, challenge in his eyes. “What  _ do _ you give a shit about?”

It might be the weed, slowly wrapping his soul in soft cotton, or the orange glow of the streetlights, catching on all the flecks of — is that body glitter? — down Shane’s neck like glow-in-the-dark freckles, or just the fact that he’s finally sitting down after hours on his feet, but he feels like opening up. Full honesty, not the platitudes he serves everyone else who asks about his ambitions.

“Finding the very herb that was missing to pull a whole dish together. The sound of a steak when it hits the grill at just the right temperature. The way people’s faces light up when they taste delicious food.”

Shane beams at him through the smoke.

“What.” 

“Christ, you’re pretty,” Shane says, like it’s almost gutting him. 

Adam shakes his head. “And you’re high.”

“Nah, not really.” Shane shrugs. “Just a bit mellow. I’m thinking I might kiss you.”

Adam laughs at that. “Let me know when you’ve decided.”

“I will.” Shane takes the last drag before squishing the short butt under his heel. “Come home with me.”

It’s not the frenzied, desperate  _ come home  _ he usually hears on the rare work nights when he meets someone not completely vapid — usually brought there against their own will — and they make out furiously in the alley during his break. 

It’s not the slurred  _ come home _ he gets from wasted twenty-one-year-olds he’s trying to gently cut off when they’ve had too much. 

It’s a lazy, hazy suggestion. It’s the smoke and the moon mirrored in Shane’s eyes. It’s a smooth ache that Adam can’t help but think Shane could soothe. 

“Yeah, okay,” he says, bumping their shoulders together. 

Their soles scrape against the pavement on their way to Shane’s place, hands brushing together as they walk, unhurried. The night is quiet. Late enough that the last club-goers are stuffed in the back of ubers and lyfts, or tucked in a booth of some corner greasy spoon. They don’t talk, and Adam is grateful for it, after hours of shouting above the music. His throat is raw.

“This is me,” Shane says simply when they reach an unassuming grey-blue building. He digs through his denim jacket pockets for his keys, scratching his calf with the top of his other foot. 

Warmth thrums through Adam’s veins, suddenly aware that this is not just some night. 

He doesn’t know what it is about it, about Shane, but it hits different. Maybe the chill of it all. The soft buzz. The no rush of it all. They might fuck tonight. They might not. It doesn’t really matter either way. Nah, what really matters is that tonight of all nights, after one of his worst shifts, he actually feels good. Happy, even.

He smiles.

“What,” Shane says, waving him in.

Adam just squeezes his hand without a word.

They toe off their shoes and discard bags and jackets, keys and phones, on the bench in the hallway. Shane crowds him against the wall, and Adam thinks it’s happening, but Shane shows much more self-restraint than Adam would have expected from anyone wearing what is presumably body glitter all the way down his neck. 

He only kisses Adam once, twice, chests pressed close and warm breaths mixing together, before pulling away.

“Come on.”

Adam would follow him anywhere, at this point, to be quite honest, but he can’t help being surprised when they pass what looks like a bedroom and Shane instead pulls him into the bathroom. 

Shane turns the shower on.

“I’m always filthy after a set,” he says, with a half-smile Adam can’t quite get a read on. 

“Yeah, is that body glitter?” Adam asks, reaching out to thumb at the hollow of Shane’s throat. 

Shane grins and takes his shirt off. “Yeah, it looks good with the neon lights, don’t you think?”

Adam can’t really answer because his gaze is pulled down, down, following the trail of glitters. It looks good even without neon lights, if you ask him.

Shane pulls him closer by his belt loops. “I thought a shower would do you good after your long shift.”

Adam could kiss him.

He does. Slow and warm, his fingers mapping Shane’s back and coming up covered in glinting purple stars, sticky with Shane’s sweat. He’s hungry for him.

“Come on,” Shane says again, breaking the kiss. “Before it gets cold.”

They get rid of the rest of their clothes in a careless pile, gazes raking across each other, mapping all the paths they’re gonna kiss, all the trails they’re gonna trace. 

Adam’s tense muscles relax under the hot spray, his exhaustion melting like an ice cube under Shane’s tongue, Shane’s fingertips. The glitters don’t wash away without a fight — they’re gonna have to be scrubbed away, but right now, they catch the dim light of the bathroom and all the droplets of water peppering Shane’s chest like a painting of tiny rainbows. 

Adam’s hands fit perfectly around Shane’s waist, his thumbs hooked in the v of his hips, fingers tapping lazily at his ass. He drinks water off Shane’s tongue, noticing how thirsty he is, and laughter bubbles past his lips. 

“After this,” Shane says, dragging his teeth across his collarbone, “I wanna smoke another blunt and fuck you.”

“Yeah,” Adam gasps, suddenly noticing just how hard he is, “yeah, anything.”

They soap each other up, shampoo each other, until they’re nothing but slick suds and needy hands. Kissing his shoulder mindlessly, Adam angles Shane under the spray to rinse him off before falling to his knees.

Sudsy beard and cloudy eyes, he opens up for Shane, hands curled around his thighs and tongue hanging out, desperate. 

Shane pauses, fingers digging through Adam’s curls. “Ready?” he asks, and Adam likes that Shane didn’t ask if he’s sure — he wouldn’t be on his knees, mouth agape, if he weren’t sure. He nods.

Shane takes himself in hand and pushes past Adam’s lips, slowly, his mouth open, mirroring Adam’s in a silent moan. Adam’s cock twitches, untouched against his belly, and his fingers dig into Shane’s thighs. 

Shane gives him a minute to adjust, to welcome the weight on his tongue, the pressure in his throat. Adam breathes hard through his nose and gives him a thumbs up. 

Shane may had been indolent, unhurried until then, but something in him seems to snap. He curls his fingers around Adam’s jaw, buried in the suds, and starts in on a frantic, feral rhythm, growling in the back of his throat. 

Being used like this does something to Adam, a warm thing in the back of his skull. He wraps a hand around himself and it isn’t long until he’s coming, across the tile, across Shane’s feet. 

Shane gasps Adam’s name, a few half-uttered curses, and thick streaks of pleasure join the foam adorning Adam’s beard. 

Shane drops to his knees, shaky legs unable to support him, and he pulls Adam to him, slick and sticky skin sliding together. He tastes himself on Adam’s lips, tongue unwavering like he needs it to survive, and Adam rubs his back, pets his hair through the come-down.

Shane laughs, a bit incredulously, still breathless, and something in his eyes tells Adam that this one might stick around. He’d like that, he thinks. 

Some nights are not so bad. 

Some nights are... good, even. 


End file.
